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Wednesday, June 18, 2014

There was a short spurt in my life when my first child was
an infant that I became hopelessly addicted to a soap opera. Once when the show was cut out due to
dangerous storm coverage, I actually wrote the station a nasty letter
complaining that I missed my program because of their overprotective
forecasting. (I am still fairly ashamed
of this.)

Thankfully my addiction didn’t last long and besides that
bit of time, I have never been much of a person to enjoy watching the drama in
someone else’s life.I love a good
storyline, but can’t stand to spend my spare time wrapped up in the problems of
someone else when I have plenty of my own.

So I don’t watch soaps.On television, that is.

Every spring when days get warmer and brighter, I get much
better at keeping my bird feeders full.“You spend more on those birds than you do me,” chirps my husband.I can’t help myself, though.Those birds become the soap opera that I
never thought I’d ever watch, but I do.

I stand at my kitchen sink, occasionally washing a dish or
two, and scan for the latest backyard drama.And it’s getting juicy.

There’s a robin that was just crazy enough to build her nest
right on the platform of our swing set next to the slide.She sits there constantly until the kids get
home from school and run screaming into the yard, but always keeps watch, which
is really smart because there are also cowbirds and bluejays in the area.(Both of those are potential bad guys who
might harm those eggs.)That mom is
always on guard, and if you’re a bird, don’t even try to get close.She’ll dive bomb you and flap you right on
out of there.

She’s got neighbors, too.Messy house sparrows have moved into one nesting box, but the sweetest
little Carolina wrens are setting up shop in another one.So much comedy as they gather twigs longer
than the entry hole and have to figure out how to get them in there.

More neighbors are expected, too, or at least visitors.The hummingbird feeders are set and ready
alongside the regular feeders that often serve as the main stage for the
backyard drama.In the spring, you never
know who will show up.A rose-breasted
grosbeak might make a cameo appearance.And then everything is peaceful until a squirrel shows up, or a quirky
chipmunk miraculously makes it way up the post.

If you’re not a backyard bird watcher, chances are you think
I’m a little nuttier than those aforementioned squirrels.Maybe I am.But a promise that nothing is an unpredictable as the nature out your
backdoor.And I’ll even venture further
to say that birdseed is probably cheaper than cable.At least that’s what I tell my husband.

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Karrie McAllister writes and mothers from Small Town, Ohio, where she is also in the running for having the most unrelated part time jobs. Her column, Dirt Don't Hurt, has appeared on numerous Web sites and newspapers since 2005, and this blog is how she keeps track of them all until she can publish another book. Contact her at KarrieMcAllister [at] aol.com